


Getting Over You

by hexagonad (ideserveyou)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Bouncy Castle, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/hexagonad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the morning after Howard's birthday party, and Vince has a few regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Over You

_Fuck me, Vince Noir, that was one hell of a party you organised there_ , the brain cell says, pressing an imaginary ice-pack to his aching head and phoning through to his secretary for more virtual Resolve. 

 _Yeah, it was, wasn’t it_? Vince agrees, and opens his eyes.

Bugger. He’s woken up, but he wishes he hadn’t. All that drinking last night, and all that bouncing – more things he now wishes he hadn’t done – have left him sore all over and unpleasantly nauseous.

He groans, and is about to haul himself out of bed in search of some real Resolve when a quiet snore from the pillow beside him reminds him of yet another thing he wishes he hadn’t done.

Tucked up under the duvet, the sparkly girl is sleeping peacefully.

After the party broke up, she seemed happy to stay and give Vince’s bits some bouncy action of their own, although she found it a bit weird that Vince wouldn’t kiss her, not on the mouth anyway. He’d pretended to have an ulcer but she didn’t entirely believe him and got a bit stroppy before he somehow managed to persuade her into bed.

He was glad she fell asleep straight afterwards, because he honestly didn’t know what to say to her. She seemed to have enjoyed it all right, and Vince’s tackle did too, but Vince himself didn’t, not really. Something was wrong. Or maybe lots of things were.

Maybe it was that very flowery perfume she was wearing; it seems to have crept into all the bedclothes and Vince’s hair and the whole room, and now Vince can’t smell anything else.

Maybe it was the fact that her bum was too big and her whole body was too soft and Vince couldn’t help thinking (but somehow managed not to say) that she would have looked better with a moustache.

Maybe it was just a mistake to go to bed with someone only four hours and twenty-six minutes after being dumped by someone else.

Vince sighs. Relationships are hard. And there isn’t a simple over-the-counter fix for them.

He should have been sensible, like Howard.

At the end of the party, Howard chastely said goodnight to the pencil case girl and held her taxi door open for her. Vince was careful not to catch her eye as she waved goodbye out of the window. He’d overheard Howard asking for her number and knew that the one she’d told him was wrong, although Vince isn’t sure why that should feel like such a big deal, since Howard will never pluck up the courage to call her anyway.

There’s a muffled groan from the room next door. Vince wonders guiltily whether the sound of him and the sparkly girl having it off could have carried through the wall the other way; whether Howard lay awake, listening.

Another sound: a whimper, then a short, sharp scream.

Howard must be having a nightmare.

He needs help. Vince sits up and untangles himself from the bedclothes.

The girl is awake too now and protesting; pulling Vince back into her perfumey embrace. “Babe… don’t go…”

“I gotta go, Howard needs me.” Vince scrambles out of bed and grabs his pants.

She follows him, clutching at his arm. “He don’t need you.” She lowers her voice; bats her eyelashes and wiggles her boobs suggestively. “But _I_ do…”

“Listen, I don’t have time for this.” He shoves her off him, and yanks his pants up.

Her face hardens as he reaches for the door handle. “If you go out there, I won’t still be here when you come back.”

“Fine by me,” Vince snaps, and staggers down the hallway.

“Howard?”

No answer. Vince opens Howard’s door, and goes in.

Howard’s in bed, clad in his ludicrous paisley pyjamas; he’s sitting bolt upright and whimpering miserably.

Vince shakes him by the shoulder, but the noise goes on.

“Howard…”

Vince clicks the light on. Howard moans; his eyes are open, but there’s nobody behind them.

Vince takes a deep breath, and slaps him in the face as though waking him from a jazz trance.

Howard wakes up and hits back. Hard.

Vince finds himself lying on the floor looking up at the too-bright light, a trickle of blood running hot from the corner of his mouth.

Howard kneels beside him making worried noises. “Oh my god, what have I done, Vince, speak to me, _Vince_ …”

But Vince can’t say anything. He feels too sick, too shocked. The metallic taste of blood, and the cloying sweetness of his ex-girlfriend’s perfume, and his guilt, and his hangover, are all mixed together and churning around inside him, and it’s only a matter of time before the worst is going to happen…

“Vince?”

Vince shakes his head, his mouth clamped shut. Chilly sweat is gathering on his forehead. There’s no way he’s going to make it to the bathroom.

He heaves, and looks up at Howard in mute appeal.

“I’ll get the bin.” Howard fetches it and holds Vince’s head, as he’s done plenty of times before, and the worst happens, leaving Vince empty and shivering and tearful.

He winds up sitting on Howard’s bed wrapped in Howard’s dressing gown. The light hurts; he shuts his eyes. Everything sounds too loud. His bedroom door creaks and slams, and high-heeled boots stomp angrily down the stairs. She’s gone, then. Won’t be seeing her again. But somehow he can’t bring himself to care.

He can hear water running in the bathroom; Howard’s footsteps going down the hall to the kitchen.

Good old Howard, he can always be counted on to look after Vince.

But this is weird, it was Howard who was having the nightmare, it should be Vince doing the looking-after…

The brain cell can’t work it out either. Vince leans his aching head back against the wall.

At least Howard’s aftershave is drowning out the smell of that horrible perfume.

“Here you go, I made you a Resolve.” Howard puts the glass into Vince’s hand and sits down on the bed beside him. “How are you feeling now?”

“Bit rough,” Vince mumbles, struggling to get his eyes open. “Sorry, Howard.”

“Erm, shouldn’t that be my line? I’m the one who hit _you_.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who was havin’ nightmares, I came in here to see whether you were OK. It sounded awful. What were you dreaming about?”

“The pencil case girl.”

Vince laughs, then winces as his head throbs. “Was she – was she so scary?”

Howard’s face is serious. “No, but I dreamt…”

“What?”

Howard swallows, and says very quickly: “I dreamt she turned into Old Gregg and tried to… tried to…”

They sit a while in silence; Vince sips at his drink, and starts to feel a little better.

“She didn’t really like me, you know,” Howard says quietly. “I’m sure that wasn’t her real phone number.”

“No, it wasn’t.” The words are out of Vince’s mouth before he has time to stop them.

“How do you… Oh. I see. You knew her already and you…”

The guilt is overwhelming. “Yeah, I set you up. I’m sorry, Howard.” Vince’s voice comes out all small, and he’s feeling still smaller. He looks down, watching the few remaining bubbles in the dregs of his glass.

“It’s all right. It didn’t work out, but still… You were trying to do something nice for me. On my birthday.”

“No.” The last bubble reaches the surface, and pops. Vince drains the glass, and puts it down; forces himself to look at Howard and be honest for once. “No, that wasn’t it, I was just bein’ selfish, I wanted to have a party… I never thought you might actually get actually hurt… an’ look at me, I come to try to help you with your nightmare an’ I end up throwing up in your bin and you having to look after me…”

“Hey, c’m’on little man, it’s not that bad, I don’t mind looking after you… and you had fun last night, and you got off with that girl in the sparkly jacket, didn’t you?”

Vince sniffs, and wipes his eyes on Howard’s dressing gown. “She didn’t really like me either… think I was just on the rebound from being dumped.”

A thoughtful expression crosses Howard’s face. After a little while he says cautiously: “Vince? About that.”

“About you dumpin’ me?”

“Yes, that. The thing is… Well, maybe I was being a bit hasty.”

Vince is quiet for a few minutes, doing some thinking of his own, getting the words just right. “Howard? Y’know, about me sayin’ I was over you?”

“What about it?”

Vince draws a deep breath, and puts a hand over Howard’s. “The thing is… Well, maybe I wasn’t as over you as I thought.”

Howard smiles. He should smile more often, then the smile would look as though it belonged on his face, instead of just visiting. “In that case, when you’re feeling better, maybe we could go back up on the roof and find out. Oh, and Vince…”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a bouncy castle for my next birthday party too?”


End file.
